Jealousy (A dance moms fanfic)

afterword.

4 years later, I'm laughing hysterically. I am also throwing up over the horrendous cover, so I made a new one.

If you're still reading this circa 2023, you're an angel for putting up with my 13 year old, underdeveloped writing. I still get constant emails and notifications alerting me of votes and comments even after all this time. I got the random instinct to make an update but now that I'm writing one I have no idea of what to write.

So I thought about rewriting the prologue:

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Bright lights burn through my corneas, weaving its way into my consciousness; beautiful artistry performed right in front of me. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint tapping of pointe shoes against vinyl flooring amongst the soft melody of Swan Lake. Poised and precise; my 3 year old brain could hardly comprehend. That is when I knew I wanted to become a professional dancer.

To be a ballerina was every little girl's dream. To spin in a puffy tutu, wear dainty ballet shoes and perform on a stage. That wasn't my dream. My dream involved bruises and sprained ankles, ripped stockings and thousands of pairs of shoes. I was determined, I would become the dancers on that stage.

It didn't take much begging to get myself enrolled into ballet lessons at a young age. My mother supported me through this dream of being a dancer. She got me signed up for dance lessons as soon as the words left my mouth. She always recognised my natural talent and strong determination. My number one fan.

What I didn't know, at a young age, is that dancing bore many genres and styles. It didn't stop a ballet. Tap began at 5 years old and quickly become one of my favourites for its great attention to detail. It was ballet but with more noise, expressive and elaborate. But it wasn't enough. Hip hop came next and opened up a whole new realm of understanding. Powerful, aggressive, cathartic, sweaty, careless. A professional dancer was well versed in everything there was to offer. I took up technique lessons, improv lessons, lyrical, contemporary, even musical theatre. Dance was my escape, my great expression of my week's intense emotions.

That was, until I entered high school. My determination to dance was overtaken by my desire to study post-high school. I suppose becoming a teenager made me lose sight of what my ultimate goal was. Becoming professional seemed to become less and less possible-- I realised just how difficult the entertainment industry was. So when I fell behind in my school classes, I dropped some of my dance classes.

My mother was unhappy to see my mood shift. Going to dance lessons became a chore, so I resorted to dancing around the house instead; blasting music and letting my mind run wild. My mother refused to let my dreams die, she knew what my dreams were before I could even acknowledge them.